


Seven devils of survival

by Deb



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, POV First Person, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deb/pseuds/Deb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You cannot imagine, Sherlock, what it feels like to have seven of you altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven devils of survival

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nahquever for the support, encouragement and editing. Also, to Florence and the Machine and the long ride home from the hospital for the inspiration.  
> This is my first fic ever. Bear with me.

_Holy water cannot help you now_

_A thousand armies couldn't keep me out_

I’m a soldier. You know- you knew I was a soldier, you knew even before we ever spoke. I invaded Afghanistan, remember, Sherlock? I’m supposed to be strong and fearless and... And then there is- was you. Alone is what I have, you said, alone protects me, right? Oh, and also the bit where you told me you were married to your work. Trying to implant the idea inside my idiot mind; I listened to you, I should’ve never listened to you. Friends protect people no matter what and I failed in my task of protecting you; my friend. My best friend.

 

_I don't want your money, I don't want your crowd_

_See, I have to burn your kingdom down_

Mycroft came by today. He doesn’t understand that I am not a Holmes, I don’t want any money, I don’t want to stay at Baker Street for free. I have no interest whatsoever in keeping any kind of relationship with any of them. I don’t want to. I really don’t. 

But the truth is this: I can’t. They all remind me too much of you. So I can’t. I’ll erase every memory, I’ll start from scratch. Without you. Without Baker Street. Without Molly and Mrs. Hudson. Without Lestrade. Without your crowd. Without you.

 

_Holy water cannot help you now_

_See, I've had to burn your kingdom down_

I needed this. I couldn’t breathe before this. I moved far away. I started anew. It’s been getting better, so much better. I tried to separate myself from you and, day by day, little by little, I’m getting there: to emancipation, to freedom.

I work, I sleep, I have nightmares, I- it’s true, yes. Some nights you appear inside my dreams and the minute you appear the dream becomes a nightmare; a sweaty, scary and dreadful nightmare.

It’s been almost three years since you’ve been gone. No. No. Not gone. Gone is such a poor metaphor to avoid saying dead. You are dead. And I’m alone, again. No crowd, no kingdom, no Holmes. Well, since I’m being honest, the appalling truth is that that’s not quite accurate. I have seven Sherlock Holmes since this morning, Sherlock. I have seven of you flickering in front of me. It started with one, over two years ago.

 

_And no rivers and no lakes, can put the fire out_

_I'm gonna raise the stakes; I'm gonna smoke you out_

It’s not easy living with one Sherlock Holmes. Believe me, I remember. It’s even harder to live with two. You cannot imagine, Sherlock, what it feels like to have seven of you altogether. It’s smothering. No. I stand corrected. It’s so not smothering that it frightens me. I am now able to breathe because there are seven of you helping me get air inside of my lungs.

But now it is time to finish this. Enough is enough.

 

_Seven devils all around you, seven devils in my house_

_See, they were there when I woke up this morning_

_I'll be dead before the day is done_

I’ve named them by order of appearance, from 1 to 7. The first Sherlock was the scary one. I actually thought I was going into a psychotic break, some kind of post traumatic schizophrenia. Yes, hypochondriac ass, yes, I know. Then, after the second Sherlock appeared I understood everything. You were emerging from my mind to help me cope. And because this is you we’re talking about, of course it would take more than one of you to help me get over the fact that you are gone. No, God, no; not gone, John, dead: you are dead. 

You being gone, that I could’ve handled it pretty well; you being dead, not so much apparently. Notice how, though I have seven Sherlocks all around me, I still talk to you in my head?

 

_And now all your love will be exorcised_

_And we will find you saying ‘it's to be harmonized’._

_And it's an even sum, it's a melody, it's a battle cry_

_It's a symphony._

I said enough is enough. Right. It seems I am not able to stick to my guns.

I function so well with the seven of you surrounding me, like an orchestra playing the most difficult symphony ever, my symphony of survival. And yes, this is why sometimes I forget that this is in no way the kind of life I want or need. Because they are not you. Number One reminded me of this today when I yelled at him, something about fairness and ‘not doing this to me’, he said: ‘I’m sorry, but this is not me, remember? It’s your brain’. Number One is the only Sherlock that is allowed to speak to me and he’s the only one I speak to. I’m faithful like that; always was, always will.

But the fact is that they are leaving me soon. Number One told me so a few weeks ago. That’s when I decided enough was enough.

 

_Seven devils all around you_

_Seven devils in my house_

_See, they were there when I woke up this morning_

_And I'll be dead before the day is done_

They will leave me today. I sense it. Maybe, I’ve even deduced it. 

And I’ll be dead before the day is done.

 

_They can keep me alive 'til I tear the walls, 'til I slave your hearts_

_And they take your souls,_

_And what have we done? Can it be undone?_

_In the evil's heart, in the evil's soul_

Number One is saying things and I can’t hear him well; something about keeping me alive, something about your soul? I can’t listen, I’m already under. They are regretting this already, they didn’t understand when I told One ‘You are not doing this to me’.

Now they are all yelling at me. Idiot, I hear. Idiot, idiot John. No.

Yes. I hear you, Sherlock… Wait, why am I hearing all of them?

No. Stop. Stop yelling, all of you. Stop.

I’m already going. Oh, God, they won’t shut up. It’s things like this that had me convinced they were like you. Jesus. Stop yelling and let go of me, you evil creatures.

 

_Seven devils all around you_

_Seven devils in your house_

_See I was dead when I woke up this morning_

_I'll be dead before the day is done_

_Before the day is done_

The seven of you are yelling, yes. I hear the yelling, not the content of your shouts. Ah, there, better, yes. I manage to say goodbye. The seven specters are merging into one. I feel two hands grabbing my shoulders. Wait, no, no, no; I don’t understand, you are specters, by definition you do not grab. The two hands are shaking me. I start hearing a clear voice, still very distant. Two hands and the shaking, I feel it.

I snap my eyes open. It’s you again. I see your lips moving. You are saying something, what are you saying, Sherlock? Why am I feeling you?

‘You can’t do this to me… I’m sorry.'


End file.
